


Sand Ache

by nichasheng



Series: Sand Ache [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichasheng/pseuds/nichasheng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative universe that Anakin Skywalker had not met Qui-gon and Obi-wan until he was fifteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AU story that wrote in English. I am very sorry if the grammar or words make you wonder. English is not my native language, so I wasn’t sure I had the ability to check whether my writing was natural or not, but there is always a first time, that is why this Prologue is also a test chapter for me.
> 
> If you think this is a fucking terrible unbearable writing, I would not continue this story and delete it later, but if you think this can be accepted, I would be very glad to translate my another story of Q/O first and prepare the whole AU story.
> 
> P.S:I also painted a pic of Anakin as a character setting.

Darkness was always the first scenery when he woke up before the dawn. For a while he just sat up amid the blanket, confusing stirred in his mind, closely followed by the exasperation that he lost sleep again. Wrapping himself in the blanket with a dispirited sigh, he clambered off the bed and walked toward the door.

 

He touched a control button. The door slide open, made a far too sharp noise in a quiet space. He grimaced, standing in stillness until there was no other noise present, and then went out the door.

 

It was cool outside when the suns have no interest to play with each other, but he knew that this planet will turn into an awful fiery furnace inevitably as they raided across the sand sea. He went up the rock stairs beside the house, which clung to the outer wall, then he scrambled onto the rooftop, where he would sit cross-legged and wait for the sunlight burn the bottom of a sky that was now mingled with ground. When he could not go to sleep, he would always come here unless there was something he eagerly wanted to build in his workroom.

 

He yawned, shifted idly on the bare stone. Down in the street, at this time of day, there was no one about. Several lamps were trying to chase away the darkness. It was a fruitless effort, considering the poor power they hold.

 

He drew a long deep breath, arms folded beneath the blanket, facing the invisible skyline where the suns will rise. Then, the whisper from the darkness that forced his eyes snap open at night reached him again.

 

He set as motionless as a stone statue.

 

But even haunted by these murmurs of unknown, he knew they were not something terrifying, just something beyond what words could describe. And he knew, all the time, even unable to explain what the mean to another person\--actually he never had any interest in talking about this matter with someone. Most people who worked with him simply assumed he was a poor genius--they were inspiring him as much as seducing.

 

A sparkle from the electric coupler along the engine of the Podracer , which skimmed his goggles and prevented him from a fatal crash, or a whistle through his ear, which he could parry a hard blow before a fist broke his nose. In this place, there was no one could be more generous than them. Unfortunately, like no matter how good a Podracer was, it might also be your great coffin. They remain silent sometimes. The silence he didn’t like at all when he was at stake could nearly equal the murmurs in his sleep.

 

He want control them, but the more he required, the more mysterious they became. The frustration that he couldn’t master this like a feeling of squeezed the sand. Soft lick between fingers, clenching the fists, then not much left.

 

_Poor genius._

Finally, a line of bright light tore apart the darkness, separating the sky from the sand sea that never seemed to end. The first born sun of Tattooine rose from the line, then his brother, as fierce as ever, nothing could veil their intense glare.

 

The blanket wrapped his shoulder would soon become an uncomfortable coat. He shrugged himself halfway out of it while the suns gradually climbing up. To his surprise, the whisper did not fade away, **n** ot as they always did when his mind cleared after sitting still for a long time.

 

They were more intense than he ever experienced before.

 

Soft steps dragged him from his thoughts. He blinked and turned his head. Shmi climbed the stairs, half of her body emerged from the edge of the roof.

 

“Morning, Mom.” he greeted.

 

“Anakin.” Shmi smiled, and then looked at him reproachfully. “How many times did I tell you? Don’t stare at the sun. It’s not good for your eyes.”

 

“Sorry, I woke up a little early. I just don’t wanna lie awake in the couch.”

 

Shmi climbed up the roof, settled herself beside Anakin. She put a warm hand on his bare shoulder.

 

“You worry too much.” Anakin said quietly, gave her hand a gentle touch.

 

“You work so hard in the day. I want to know you rest well.”

 

“I’m Ok, Mom.”

 

A little pool of silence. Anakin sighed and looked back at the street. By now there were beings about, merchants were preparing for the morning market, and slaves who always started early every morning. The sky was cloudless as ever, with two fireballs riding high. Suddenly, the sunshine came into the dimly lit room that created by the stubborn murmurs. The realization hit him.

 

“I have a feeling that something big is going to happen.” He said solemnly, but not to his mother.

 

Shmi’s care showed through her eyes. “Is that good or bad?”

 

He didn’t answer. With all focus on his mind, he stared into the suns.

 

_No...not just something big._

The murmurs became louder. The deep howls of the creatures in an ancient tale of Tatooine that used as a metaphor for the harshest natural environment.

 

Dragons of the great suns.

 

_“Someone is coming!” they shouted. “Powerful like us!”_

 

Their howls made Anakin shudder, not out of fear but a sort of exciting. The forecast thundered through his mind like a Podracer roared past.

He got up, eyes never moved from the two suns. His sudden rise surprised Shmi, with all the care that only a mother could show, she looked at her son curiously.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission led Obi-wan and Qui-gon to the remote planet Tatooine, and things didn’t go well from the start. (Some clues of this chapter related to my other short story Family Ties. You could check my dashboard.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that I hasn’t updated my story for a long time. I was tied up with my work and the English writing was really difficult for a non-native. Sorry for that. I haven't forgotten this story.

The silver-gray trade ship glided through space, cutting a distinct figure against the blackness. Its broadside chased with rows of running lights flickering alternately. The glare of the twin suns reflecting from the hull that made its most part into a dazzling mirror even there were battered and stained marks everywhere. The roughness was deliberately picked out from the beginning, due to the laws was far away, none of the captains, who valued their career or life, would so stupid to not keep the low-profile within the Outer Rim Territories.

 

Obi-wan sat in the pilot’s seat, flipping several switches for the preparation of approaching planet’s orbit. A data-pad lay not far from his touch on the console. Despite he’d been reminded to forget by himself, he was having an urge throwing it to vacuum.

 

_Why a senator of the Galactic Senate lived in Coruscant for well-being would take such a long distant to a backwater desert?_

 

He stared toward the destination they should reach soon, shifted uneasy at the sandy sphere like the heat was scalding his skin by only looking at the planet.

 

In some ways he knew the reason, had talked with Qui-gon briefly based on the grapevine they’d gotten in Coruscant underlevels, but they both had refused to discuss further because of the consequent disgust might somewhat disturb the mission.

 

_Maybe it already did._

 

Obi-wan closed his eyes. He let one hand slide up to rub them at the bridge of his nose, trying to dislodge the feeling of reluctance. He would do what the Council directed him. He and Qui-gon would find Senator Trites Glatter and bring him back to the civilization, dead or alive, and for those of what the senator had done—they had no hard evidence but back alley news—was dependent on the same civilization to convict.

 

He found himself smiling wryly at what he wanted to avoid thinking since leaving Coruscant. It’s not the first time he served one of the Senate protection or rescue and discovered a hidden side during the mission, and also not the first time he wondered if a bigwig as the cardinal root that tangled with others intricately in the Senate could be unseated by even the Jedi.

 

Blaming himself for his negative feelings, Obi-wan sighed.

 

There were good people in that bog, he knew, but given what was going on in the current situation, no one could provide a complete honesty to the other. Cunning was, after all, an essential part of the political animals.

 

He did his best to put some attention to the adjustment, but had not much work to do before the atmospheric entry. Readings on status boards were normal, scrolling continuously while computers were calculating the parameters. The ship was a typical small-scale trade model, though the so-called small-scale trade was, technically, the smuggling. Worn from many years of use yet still very functional, with a storeroom for legal shipments, several stashes for the gray cargos, and most important of all, a high-efficiency hyperdrive in the heart, it had been borrowed from the hanger full of seized ships in the Coruscant Custom.

 

Now, they were merchants, common type of the Outer Rim Interplanetary Trade, flew a ship loading with seeds used in moisture farming and hoped those seeds would open a farmer’s mouth for whatever clues about the missing senator.

 

_Moisture farmer…_

 

Finally, Obi-wan sighed again and sank back into the seat. He lean an elbow on the arm, rest his chin in his hand, and glanced thoughtfully aside at the empty copilot seat.

 

_If you want to see your family, I won’t tell on you, you know._

 

Qui-gon’s words drifted back through his mind with warmth. Recollection of the smiling face, a twinkle in the eye, the earnest in a joking tone, was showing in his head and gave him a feeling that everything would be easy going. But the inner struggle harried him for days, like a splinter didn’t dig out of the finger timely and grew deeper each time in the careless touch.

 

He hadn’t seen his family for almost fifteen years, no correspondence, no messages, nothing more had been heard since the day he met his father in the Coruscant Plaza. They disappeared from his life. He’s not sure if they moved, or probably, in consideration of this planet was one of the greatest nests of infamy, died.

 

The door suddenly opened, and before guilt could hold its ground, Obi-wan edged himself up with a perception that Qui-gon was coming. The older Jedi cut a towering figure in the cramped space, face maybe a little distant and isolated with the meditation, but had an easy grace he’d always owned as he stepped into the cockpit and sat on the seat.

 

“Seemed to be going well.” Qui-gon said quietly.

 

“Let’s hope so.” Obi-wan found his voice was a bit blocked after not speaking for a while. He cleared his throat. “How was the meditation?”

 

Qui-gon shook his head. “I can sense someone or something is strong in the Force, but shifts every time as I try to peer into the fog. I have no idea whether it’s a problem with our mission or not. ”

 

“Or it’s just you meditate too much and get overloaded like Dex’s coffee machine, out of order and put a ton of sugar in your cup that you never know whether it’s coffee or syrup.” Obi-wan teased lightly. He knew it wouldn’t do any harm, knew part of it was his worry. Qui-gon had grown taciturn since Master Dooku had gone missing in the Invasion of Naboo. He was given to mediating whenever he could be alone in these days. In the daily round at the temple, he equally held himself off from the others, and sometimes Obi-wan could even glimpse a faint disappointment on his face.

 

“Your tongue is very sharpened, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon smiled, squinted up at the durasteel ceiling. “Since when did you learn how to mock me like this?”

 

“Take a guess."

 

Qui-gon hoisted an eyebrow with challenge. “Is it really that sulking to be my Padawan, that when you became a Jedi you started using all suppressed complains to improve your sneer skill? Maybe you are more like Dex’s coffee machine than I by much.” He splayed one hand. “Explosion.”

 

Obi-wan chuckled. At least with his former Padawan, Qui-gon was still the man he’d been. Witty and humorous, no real space for the strict images of the Jedi Master. But aside from these things, his no given in the Council’s pressure, no obedience for the Jeid Code when he had his own opinion was indeed the main reason that ensured Obi-wan had remained a Padawan Learner until he was twenty eight.

 

 _Don’t cry, my friend._ About this, Quinlan once remarked playfully to him, _at least your braid keeps you very cute even it going to the floor._ If Quinlan himself wasn’t a troubled Padawan, Obi-wan would press his face to the plate then. He was barely bothered by getting stuck so much as by these jokes and opinionated pity.

 

“Don’t you remember what I’d said after you had shorn off my braid? I’m hurt. ” Obi-wan manufactured sadness into his voice.

 

Something changed in Qui-gon’s face, a veiled soft behind the posturing. “I won’t forget that,” he said, “and I remember it very well.”

 

Obi-wan looked at him, thought back to the doorway before the Jedi Council Chamber. The memory of twilight wore itself into the concrete forest of Coruscant, feathery light of the approaching evening through the high windows, cool marble walls around them were rendered quite golden, all that, were hardly gone blurred with the days.

 

 _I never have any doubt of my ability, or yours, Master._ Knew there were regrets for his belated knighthood in Qui-gon’s heart, he said honestly. _Instead, obsessed with the title might be the opposite way of the Jedi Path, so don’t say sorry to me._

 

“This philosophical wisdom in your nature will make you a greater man, that’s what I’d said at that time, after your subtle consolation.” Qui-gon grinned. His long brown hair was with some white now rather than gray, was raked back and bound with a simple band, and there was silver hair to balance it within the neat beard, but otherwise his features were barely changed, was the same handsome man who guided and looked after Obi-wan for all these years. “Anyway, did you press it because you want to go over my praise?”

 

“Perhaps,” Obi-wan rubbed at his chin. His face was kept clean-shaven, unlike Qui-gon, whose beardless jaw was probably never showed to others. “You are a little stingy about this, you know.”

 

“If you want more sugared words, stop teasing me with your little trick.”

 

“Sugared words? Qui-gon, I just…” Obi-wan’s voice trailed off. A twitter broke into their chat, and he saw a trace of the alert flicking across Qui-gon’s face. He threw a look at the beeping comm, frowning as he checked the visual displays. “No messages. Unknown caller.” He keyed it on, feeling something was scratching at his nerves.

 

“This is trade ship Silver Razor. Please identify yourselves.” Obi-wan hailed calmly.

 

There was no response at first, and then the comm crackled with a man’s voice. “Helloo-o.” He said, lingering on the last syllable.

 

“This is trade ship Silver Razor.” Obi-wan repeated, “Please identify yourselves and state your intentions.”

 

The voice chuckled idly. “Ah, my intentions. Yeah. But don’t you think we need to communicate face to face?”

 

“I don’t understand.” Obi-wan said carefully.

 

“Stop your ship and let us be honest,” the voice paused, “or let my torpedo screw your ass.”

 

Obi-wan looked sideways at Qui-gon. An expression of concentration on his face, but as his eyes shifted to meet Obi-wan’s he shook his head slowly—they were unlikely to be followed by pirates.

 

Qui-gon said nothing, just putting his coat’s hood up. Obi-wan wrapped his big long cape around his neck, hiding half the face behind the crash. He didn’t fully comply with that arrogant voice, just slowed down the ship’s speed. After a while, a big gray ship drifted oppressively past the canopy and settled with its bow in front of the Silver Razor. It was about the size of a medium trade vessel, built in a rough design of a sort that was very Outer Rim style.

 

Obi-wan keyed the visual transmitter, and suddenly a wrinkled face occupied whole screen. He was a Weequay, had some bulges like the rocky fields of their planet Srilluur on his face.

 

“Ah, you are human. That’s good. I like human, they are always sensitive and speaking with a double heart.” He said happily but with a venom-sounding tone.

 

Obi-wan felt his throat tighten. “We’re merchants, just for business. If we offended you we didn’t mean to.” He restrained his Coruscanti accent and began politely.

 

“Merchants? Everybody says they are merchants, up to their humble business. I don’t think so.

 

“Who’re you?” Qui-gon asked.

 

The Weequay chuckled again and drew himself away from the screen. Now, Obi-wan could glimpse that someone else was standing around him.

 

“No matter who you are, unless you are the local…” There was a slight pause, Qui-gon seemed to consider the appropriate title. “Power-holder,” his voice harden, “you have no rights to block the ships so close to the planet.”

 

Obi-wan knew the older Jedi had already confirmed they were locals, a problem more troublesome than the pirates. Qui-gon was right, they were too close to a planet to achieve hyperspace jump.

 

“Power-holder…” The title put a hokey, jumpy joy on the Weequay’s voice. “I hope I am, but I’m just a servant of my employer.”

 

“So, what do you want?” Obi-wan asked flatly.

 

“You really don’t know the facts, do you? Or you simply pretend to be.” The Weequay gestured.

 

There must be something wrong with this place, Obi-wan frowned, and now he had a rough guess of why the Weequay blocking their way. News of a remote planet even Tatooine could reach more or less at the central. 

 

“We know your slaves are getting excited these days, but what matters that to us? We come here for earning a living, that’s all.” Obi-wan complained.

 

“Well, maybe.” The Weequay snorted dismissively. “Then accept my apology, human. Tatooine is sealed, no ship will be allowed to land or leave until we settle these pitiful insects.”

 

Obi-wan’s mouth tightened. He expected the tension and disorder but not the level of blockade. “It’s not fair.” He said sulkily, like every merchant would respond. “We came half a galaxy to here. You will break us!”

 

“Yeah, you are right. If you not leave, I will break you in pieces.”

 

“What if we pay extra taxes?”

 

“No way.”

 

“Then…” But before Obi-wan could continue his bargaining, the sudden weightlessness nearly forced him to bite his tongue. He found their ship was diving rapidly and the control of the pilot’s console was shifted to the copilot’s.

 

“What are you doing, Qui-gon!?” He shouted.

 

“You’re wasting time.” Qui-gon stared the forward viewport, hands griping the control yoke. “He won’t let us pass, even if you sold yourself to him.”

 

Their comm buzzed, burst out nasty curses. Obi-wan couldn’t understand these words, but he knew their interceptor was obviously provoked by Qui-gon’s action.

 

The whole ship jolted sideways as cannonfire blazed past them. He shut down the babble comm and grasped his own yoke. The risk was already committed, he sighed, there were no flanking tactics but to storm the way clear.

 

“We can’t rush into the planet like this. They will stick to us until we hit sands.”

 

“I know what you are thinking.” Qui-gan yanked his control yoke for dodging another wave of the cannon laser. “But remember compare with their heavyarms, our ship’s fire isn’t more than a slingshot.” With a tone that no worry fit the battle, he said.

 

Obi-wan retrieved the control of the ship and slammed his yoke forward for a full speed charging, flying straight toward the planet. The Weequay must believe they were in a desperate struggle to enter Tatooine, snapped at their tail firmly and released cannons like demonstrating the firepower. Adjusting the angle, Obi-wan led the ship into the evasion maneuvers that made the violent laser to be nothing more than the scarlet lines.

 

“Torpedos.” Qui-gon reminded before the sensor display lit with a warning.

 

“He really wanna kill us.” Obi-wan murmured. Now, Tatooine was standing in front of them. He didn’t fly the ship into the atmosphere, twisting the yoke, he rode along the planet’s rotation orbit instead. The Weequay seemed to feel a little confident in his torpedoes, or blood boiling with missing the target several times, because there were at least five in the way to destroy the little trade ship.

 

_It’s time to finish the circus._

 

Using their prow and stern attitude jets to kick the ship into an inverted flip, just before the lead torpedo threatened to hit them completely, upside down from the normal flying, and then dashed toward the Weequay’s ship with a direct purpose. He could hear the crash behind him, metal struck metal, as he did all of these actions—later he would find a container full of seeds that collapsed and made the whole storeroom in a mess.

 

His veer was too sudden to follow. No trick response for his maneuvering, almost all of the torpedoes lost him instantly. They pasted through the ship, flying spiral away and off into the distant darkness. But Silver Razor wasn’t a starfighter after all. The last one streaked past the starboard with less than three meter to spare, and its proximity sensor was triggered by coming close enough.

 

Explosion. Shock wave. Spray of heat energy. The trade ship rocked with them fiercely.

 

“Now I remember, you don’t like fly.” Against the irritating alarm and the discomforting rumble, Qui-gon said loudly.

 

Obi-wan throw the taunt into the noise, focusing his mind on what he planned to do. The reading on display was awful, indicated that the starboard was severely damaged. Accessing into the force, he tried to hold the ship steady and prepared for the final action. The Weequay’s cannons blazed again like the storm, but couldn’t lock perfectly as his target moved in an unexpected way.

 

With all the precision that the Force could help, Silver Razor skimmed right above the larger ship, diving, flipping, and then facing backward. The giant thrusters broke into Obi-wan’s view. When he squeezed his trigger, he sensed Qui-gon was with him. The older Jedi reached into the Force, his mind was linked up with the circuitry and the equipment as he kept the ship in functional control.

 

Obi-wan smiled. Energy flared from their cannons, and one thruster of the Weequay’s ship exploded in glowing plasma. The big grey chunk tilted with the damage that would not lead it into the disintegration but was very enough for the two Jedi. Looking at his triumph, Obi-wan breathed a sigh in relief, and soon found their own ship was in no mood to enjoy the moment.

 

“Hyperdrive was gone.” He said sullenly. “Good news? Or bad?”

 

Qui-gon shrugged. “Your question is meaningless.”

 

“Good one is, when they finish that mess, we will already be in Tatooine and hide our ship well.”

 

“And?”

 

“Part of the shield is unstuck. I could handle the landing, but I think it will be another happy one.” Obi-wan said lightly as he flew the ship away from the finished combat.

 

“Not too bad.” Qui-gon flickered a smile.

 

Their whole ship vibrated with hitting the atmosphere, roar of friction howling out through the tortured metal. They rode the wave and dived into the cloudless heat world. From the forward viewport, vast expanses of sand was unfolded like pale yellow-ocean. Obi-wan reined the yoke to keep their ship out of tumble. He had a strange feeling, that the Force whispered something like peeling old chips off the forgotten misty dream as he let it right him during the descent.

 

He blinked and shook off a shiver. It was crazy of him to meditate such a thing in present situation. Now, only one thing he was certain.

 

Even if they could land safely, this was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter presented some background at the service of my whole story, and roughly showed up the characters of Obi-wan and Qui-gon. The next one will be the Anakin’s Pov.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Your comments or Kudos are always welcome.


End file.
